


trampled flowers 'neath my feet

by dustofwarfare



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Pre-Canon, albeit grudgingly, sex pollen made him do it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 18:02:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15734601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustofwarfare/pseuds/dustofwarfare
Summary: There’s a moment of silence before Ardyn says, “Ravus. Are you saying you were doused with sex pollen?”“Yes,” Ravus says, arms crossed, glowering at the window in front of him. There's a storm rolling in just beyond the industrial skyline, blanketing the distant horizon with fog. “That is what I am saying.”____In which Ravus is accidentally exposed to sex pollen on a mission in Cleigne, and requires Ardyn's assistance when he returns to the capital.Ardyn is, of course,delightedto lend a hand.





	trampled flowers 'neath my feet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marmolita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marmolita/gifts).



> This is technically set in the same 'verse as [by force or by ruse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127717) and probably also [Insubordination](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15303249), though this fic would be set between the two. It's a few years pre-canon, and I decided to give Ravus the title "Deputy High Commander" since we've seen evidence that he did hold that title, even if it makes no sense because no one at SE knows how to make an org chart or a military hierarchy. ANYWAY. 
> 
> This is for Marmolita, who was feeling under the weather and who said something on chat like "omg can you imagine Ravus getting sex pollen-ed" and....well, I could, and I did, and I wrote it all down :D 
> 
> Title from the song "White Noise" by Murder by Death, my forever faves.

Ravus follows behind the MTs as they head toward the airship, attempting to clear the fog of what he thinks is dust kicked up from the storm of Imperial troops cutting a swathe through Cleigne. The uprising here has been swiftly attended to, the Lucian sympathizers processed for “realignment” back in Gralea -- whether that means they’ll be convinced of the Empire’s greatness by force or simply disappeared, Ravus doesn’t know and doesn’t much care.

The fewer people who pledge their allegiance to that coward of a king and his false prophet son, the better.

It isn’t until later, when he’s settled in his small quarters in the airship for the return trip to the capital, that he starts to sneeze.

Ravus barely notices it the first few times, but by the sixth, he’s starting to frown in concern. He doesn’t feel sick -- he’s been blessed with good health his whole life, as are most who carry the blood of the Oracle even if they cannot heal -- but the sneezes are coming on faster, now, one after the other.

It isn’t until he notices his skin beginning to flush and his cock beginning to harden that he thinks about the flowers, and wonders if maybe that cloud in the air was something far more insidious than just _dust._

***

The MTs are not affected. They might start out life as human, but by the time they are sent on missions they are more machine than anything.

As the sole human involved in the mission, Ravus is the only one who seems to be suffering any ill-effects. He’s familiar enough with the concept of sex pollen -- it’s something they’ve been briefed about in the army, with the accompanying snickers and ribald jokes that Ravus neither laughed at nor made -- but admittedly he’s never thought too much about the possibility of encountering any.

Apparently he’s going to have to be more careful in the future, because this is nothing short of miserable.

Ravus aims a small, standard-issue box fan on himself and strips, lying naked on the small bunk of his quarters and sending a quiet moment of thanks to whoever made certain only MTs accompanied him on this mission. He hates the thought of giving in to his body’s demand for physical pleasure because of some invasive species of plant, but he can only fight against nature for so long before it begins to turn painful -- and dangerous. He knows that the rising fever, if left unchecked, will cook his brains like an egg in a frying pan.

There are three empty bottles of water at his feet, and he will not ask the captain of the vessel for more. Gritting his teeth, Ravus puts a hand on his cock and strokes himself hard and fast, grim determination to alleviate his suffering making for an unpleasant encounter. His skin is dry and chapped, and it’s nothing short of painful as his hand moves over his swollen cock.

Annoyed, Ravus spits in his hand and sighs a bit in relief when the wetness eases the discomfort somewhat. He’s going to have to do this continually until he reaches Gralea, but he’s rather at a loss for what to do when he gets there.

The thought of asking any sort of medical personnel for assistance makes him flush with shame. He’s already fighting against the constant dislike of his fellow officers, their muttered words trailing him like a refrain through the Keep -- _traitor, spoiled princeling, Chancellor’s whore --_ and if this gets out, he’ll be humiliated. So he strokes harder and harder, lets himself fall into half-hazy fantasies of Ardyn pinning him down and threatening him in that silky voice and finally, _finally_ , comes all over himself.

The relief is immediate, but it’s only a matter of time before the heat starts rising, even worse than before, and his cock begins to fill with blood.

Ravus grits his teeth and, even though he knows it’s useless, he tries to endure, to sweat it out, to _suffer_ as long as he can. Eventually he gets up, triple-checks the lock on the door and turns the box fan up as high as it will go.

Then he lays down, takes his cock in hand, and closes his eyes.

***

By the time the airship docs in Gralea, Ravus is exhausted, dehydrated, and in a mood so foul that even the MTs seem to give him a wide berth. He’s dressed in his uniform, which is its own torture given how hot and flushed he is, and he’s tied his hair back in a ponytail -- which he never does in front of anyone save his sister and, on rare occasions, Ardyn -- but it’s sweat-soaked and he can’t stand the way it looks, hanging damp in his face.

He’s half-convinced that if he were called to give a report before Glauca or the Emperor right now, he’d risk imprisonment or execution and simply desert. Luckily, no one of higher rank tries to get his attention, and everyone else takes a cue from the MTs and Imperial soldiers and leaves him alone.

He thinks about returning to his quarters and locking himself away for the duration, but it’s become clear that his own attentions are not enough to adequately deal with the problem. He could, he supposes, visit Dr. Besithia -- but the thought of Besithia’s sly little grin or worse, his tactless intellectual curiosity -- is enough to quell that impulse entirely.

So instead, he goes to find the one person who can help him. On his way, he’s accosted by the terrifying thought that Ardyn might not be in Gralea at all -- he does travel quite a bit – and that he’ll be forced to ask some _stranger_ to take him to bed. But a snapped question at a guard stationed outside the Imperial residences brings him a bit of relief, as the soldier says that yes, Chancellor Izunia is in residence and just returned home a few moments earlier.

It’s not until he’s knocking on Ardyn’s door that he realizes he will have to explain to Ardyn why he’s there. Ardyn pursued him after they’d both attended a mandatory theater production, forced by Imperial command to watch a terrible play about the glory of giving one’s life and loyalty to the Empire. Ravus allowed the seduction mostly out of curiosity -- Ardyn is, for all his charms and flirtation, not given to taking lovers, if the gossips are to be believed.

Nor is Ravus, because physical pleasure is never worth making oneself vulnerable, and he mistrusts every single person that isn’t Lunafreya.

But perhaps he does trust Ardyn, at least to some extent, if the Imperial Chancellor is the only person to whom he considers presenting himself in this state. If he hadn’t been there, Ravus supposes he would have chartered an airship to seek out his sister, but the thought is so horrifying he doesn’t want to dwell on it.

Ardyn answers the door after a few knocks, still dressed in that mishmash of oddly-patterned clothing he fancies for whatever reason. The only thing he’s removed is his hat.

“Ah, Deputy High Commander Nox Fleuret,” Ardyn says, in his politician’s voice. He sketches a lazy bow. “And to what do I owe the honor of your visit? From the look on your face, I daresay it’s nothing good.”

Ravus doesn’t bother with niceties. His skin is tingling and his cock aches; he’s certain there’s a wet spot on his trousers, thankfully hidden beneath the drape of his long coat. He pushes past Ardyn, or tries -- Ardyn is surprisingly difficult to move when he wants to be.

“It is customary to ask for an invitation before inviting oneself inside another’s home,” Ardyn smarms at him.

Ravus is not in the mood. “I wish to discuss the reason for my visit in private,” he hisses.

Ardyn tilts his head, smile placid but eyes glittering with malice. How anyone mistakes this man as harmless, Ravus will never understand. “Then ask me nicely if you can come in, and we may do so.”

Ravus drags in a breath, completely sure that this will be only the start of his humiliations this evening. Ardyn will, Ravus knows, take full advantage of his state to torment him utterly. That the thought arouses him is of no real surprise -- while he would never admit to it out loud, it might have done the same even _without_ the addition of the sex pollen.

“Please, Chancellor, may I have a word,” Ravus bites out, each word as snipped and precise as cut glass.

“Here to see the _Chancellor_ , are you? I’m afraid you may need to make an appointment for that.”

Ravus’s jaw is aching, he’s clenching his teeth so tightly. “Please, Ardyn, may I have a word? In private?” It’s the right words, certainly, but the tone is all wrong, as close to sullen as Ravus ever is.

“Why, of course,” Ardyn says, stepping back so that Ravus can enter. The sound of the door shutting is a relief. “What seems to be the trouble? You looked a bit peaked, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“There was...an incident,” Ravus says, struggling to keep his breathing even. Just the briefest brush of his body against Ardyn’s when he entered the room made his knees weak. He inhales slowly through his nose and breathes out through his mouth, once, twice, before he continues. “It involved a particular brand of pollen from a flower.”

There’s a moment of silence before Ardyn says, “Ravus. Are you saying you were doused with sex pollen?”

“Yes,” Ravus says, arms crossed, glowering at the window in front of him. There's a storm rolling in just beyond the industrial skyline, blanketing the distant horizon with fog. “That is what I am saying.”

“And no one else was affected?”

Ravus turns, slightly relieved that Ardyn isn’t laughing. “I was the only human on the mission. The rest were MTs.”

“The flowers, were they perchance red and orange, rather small, close to the ground like a clover?”

Ravus is having a hard time picturing the flowers at all, with his mind careening into decidedly more lurid directions. But he’s still a soldier, and he’s been trained to be observant. “That does sound about right, yes.” He shifts on his feet, breath coming faster, and face heating. Ardyn typically keeps his rooms the same temperature as the Glacian’s corpse, so Ravus knows it must be the pollen stirring his blood once more.

Ardyn steps closer. His cologne arrives first, the scent not overpowering as much as it is _visceral,_ the sharp notes of citrus and musk making Ravus think of being on his knees, his back, for Ardyn. “You were in Cleigne, yes?”

For a man who claims to have no interest in the military, Ardyn seems to know the Imperial army’s location with ease. Ravus nods. “Yes.”

Ardyn snaps his fingers and begins unbuttoning Ravus’s coat. “ _Concitantem Sanguinem._ Blood-stirrers,” he clarifies. “They were once widely used in potions meant to agitate the blood to cure lethargy. Did you know that only a small percentage of the population is affected by their aphrodisiac properties?”

Ravus’s response is a rather irritated glare. “No.”

“Yes, well. You wouldn’t, I assume. Mostly, their use fell out of practice once modern medicine evolved. The pollen is interesting, though. Besides the small percentage of humans, the only other creature that experiences a similar response is coeurls. It’s said they are enticed to mate by the pollen, and immediately-- they roll about in the field and cover themselves with it, carrying it back to their dens and hunting grounds. Then, the pollen is spread through means of defecation, urination, or even the decomposition of the--”

“Ardyn,” Ravus interrupts. “Just tell me how long it is expected to last.”

“Hmm. The times very, but never longer than seventy-two hours. You should have your clothes laundered and yourself fully cleaned to make sure there are no lingering particles.” Ardyn pushes the coat off his shoulders. “I surmise you attempted to take care of the problem yourself?”

Ravus huffs. “Yes, of course.”

“Which does nothing, as you no doubt learned. The pollen could not be spread if a coeurl was exposed to it and simply went off to rub itself against a nearby tree.” Ardyn pulls at the thin undershirt Ravus wears. “You’ll experience little relief from your own touch, but from another…ah, well. For most that would be the benefit, but likely not for you.”

Before Ravus can ask what he means, Ardyn has his shirt off and runs two fingers lightly down Ravus’s bare chest.

Ravus _moans_. His entire body twitches and shudders as pleasure that should absolutely not be that intense washes over him. It’s so wonderful and so _awful_ that he wants to weep, as he hasn’t done since he was sixteen and huddled in his shower, washing off the ashes of his mother.

“I have heard that sex under the pollen’s influence is beyond all compare.” Ardyn looks entirely too pleased. “I look forward to watching you fight pleasure even more than you usually do, Ravus.”

 _And I look forward to wanting to put my fist in your smug face, more than_ I _usually do,_ Ravus thinks, but does not say. It isn’t as if Ardyn can’t tell from his expression exactly what he’s thinking.  

And it’s very hard to concentrate as it is, with Ardyn’s hands -- still clad in those leather fingerless gloves he always wears -- sweeping over the planes and muscles of his chest. Ravus hates the way he leans into the touch like an attention-starved cat, but it feels so _good_ , much better than the touch of his own hand on his cock, or the six or seven orgasms he’d had on the way back to Gralea.

“My,” Ardyn murmurs, tweaking his nipple and laughing at the way Ravus nearly buckles. “This is entirely unexpected and utterly delightful. Is it my birthday? Here I thought that was ages away.”

Ravus has no idea when Ardyn’s birthday is -- this is, as far as he knows, the first time Ardyn’s ever referenced having one. But he can’t think to ask for clarification, not when Ardyn is leaning forward and licking at the hardened nipple, biting down a shade past comfortable. Ravus is usually rather bored with any sort of nipple play, but it’s never felt like this before. Pure pleasure fogs his brain and his cock _aches_ , and he’s half a second away from dragging Ardyn’s hand down to press it against his erection.

Ardyn grabs him by the back of the neck and pulls him in to kiss him. Ravus is not in the mood to be kissed -- he rarely is, and he’s convinced that’s why Ardyn does it in the first place -- but the first press of Ardyn’s mouth to his is so good that his toes curl in his boots, and his hands reach out to fist Ardyn’s coat and haul him closer. He loses himself in the kiss, rubbing his body against Ardyn’s and unable to stop the desperate sounds he’s making, or the eager, frantic thrust of his hips as he seeks friction on his cock.

“Damn it all,” Ravus breathes, when Ardyn finally pulls away. He presses a trembling hand to his mouth, glaring at Ardyn as if this is somehow Ardyn’s fault.

Ardyn’s gestures and mannerisms always seem to Ravus to be somehow exaggerated, tipped ever-so-slightly into the realm of caricature of whatever emotion he’s ostensibly feeling. The clothing and his theatrical personality, combined with his resonant voice and showman’s intonation, are excellent distraction techniques.

Ravus tends toward the opposite end of the spectrum, all cold stoicism and icy aloofness, but it’s more or less the same principal. He knows by now that Ardyn shows his true feelings in the glint of his bright eyes and the shape of his mouth, both more honest than expressive. Ardyn’s eyes are heavy-lidded but cold; if they’ve ever held genuine warmth, Ravus has yet to see it. 

“If you do not wish to do this,” Ravus says, stiffly, swaying a bit on his feet. “I can find someone else.”

“Who? Shall you order an MT to fuck you?” Honest curiosity sparks in Ardyn’s gaze. “I wonder if that would work to mitigate the reaction of the pollen?”

“Perhaps you could perform your science experiments another time, Dr. Izunia,” Ravus says tightly. “If I am imposing, please just let me know so that I may -- mph.”

Ardyn grabs him and pulls him close, kissing him again. “As if I would want anyone else to see the army’s most promising young officer rendered absolutely _useless_ by flowers,” Ardyn murmurs, biting his lower lip and smiling against Ravus’s mouth when he moans. “Don’t be ridiculous, darling. Now, let’s get these clothes off you, hmm? I think you can’t wait much longer to have me mount you.”

Showman’s intonation or not, Ardyn’s voice has always been something of a turn-on for Ravus, loathe though he may be to admit it. That, and the visual that springs to mind immediately at _you can’t wait much longer to have me mount you_ is enough to get Ravus’s hands on his belt, frantic to disrobe completely.

His clothes end up in a heap on the floor, and when Ardyn reaches down and wraps one leather-covered hand around Ravus’s cock, Ravus almost crumples and joins them. His cock is wet with pre-come, and he doesn’t even say a word when Ardyn shoves the sticky tips of his fingers into Ravus’s mouth.

Ravus thinks he hears Ardyn humming something akin to a victory song as they head toward the bedroom, but perhaps he’s imagining it.

***

Surprisingly enough, Ardyn doesn’t torment him much more than he already has. He pushes Ravus on the neatly-made bed, shrugs out of his absurd number of outer-layers and strips himself bare.

Ravus, lying naked on his back, pushes up on his elbows. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Ardyn naked over the years, and most of them involve a post-sex shower. He’s an attractive man, broad-shouldered with well-defined muscles hidden beneath all that bulky clothing. Every bit of his body hair is the same improbable color as the wild, untamed mass on his head.

“I don’t know if you’ve ever looked at me like this before,” Ardyn says, grabbing the lube and crawling up the bed. He’s aroused, his cock thick and ready, and Ravus flushes as he realizes he’s staring and that he’s almost drooling in anticipation.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he says, legs spreading to accommodate Ardyn between them. “It’s the pollen, nothing more.”

Ardyn braces himself on his elbows and smiles infuriatingly down at Ravus. “You’re not a very good liar, Ravus.”

Ravus makes a face, but Ardyn shifts all his weight to one side so he can slick up his cock and then he’s pressing inside, not dragging it out, and the relief Ravus feels is almost as great as the pleasure of Ardyn’s length sliding inside him. He closes his eyes and grabs Ardyn’s shoulders to center himself, breathing harshly, fighting the urge to wrap his legs around Ardyn’s waist and pull him in.

He gives in a few seconds later, when Ardyn bottoms out and Ravus can feel Ardyn’s balls against his ass. It’s so much better than touching himself, Ardyn’s thrusts are measured and strong and perfect, the curve of his cock rubbing up against Ravus’s prostate with every thrust.

Ravus comes without Ardyn even touching his cock; the shout he gives is as much from surprise as it is from pleasure. His body arches and his muscles spasm, and the relief when he comes is overwhelming in its intensity. Getting off has never felt this good, and Ravus is distantly aware that he’s never hated doing it more.

Ardyn hasn’t come yet -- has only barely started fucking Ravus, really -- and is saying something Ravus can’t hear through the roar of blood in his ears. Ardyn’s thrusts get harsher, less rhythmic, his breath a staccato pant in Ravus’s ear.

Astonishingly, Ravus comes _again_ when Ardyn does; it’s not with the same intensity as the orgasm before it, doesn’t leave him limp and gasping, but it’s enough to make his body go tight and his cock to twitch where it lies on his stomach.

Ardyn lifts his head, his hair a messy tangle even though, as usual, he barely looks winded or affected at all. “How interesting. Did that feel good, my sulky young prince?”

“Don’t call me that,” Ravus mutters, but it sounds less antagonistic than usual since his brain feels a bit like its mush oozing out of his ears.

“You know, I realize you hate nothing more than letting yourself feel something that isn’t outrage,” Ardyn begins, and Ravus wishes _Ardyn_ was afflicted by the damned sex pollen only so he’d stop _talking,_ “But you have the perfect excuse to give in and enjoy yourself, you realize. It’s going to feel good and you can’t stop it, so you fighting is just wasted effort at this point, wouldn’t you say?”

Ravus pushes lightly at Ardyn’s shoulder -- his weight is heavy, even if it feels good -- and scowls. “That’s what you tell me even when I’m _not_ under the influence of some natural aphrodisiac.”

“Yes,” Ardyn says, smiling down at him like they’re sharing a secret, or perhaps a joke. “But I thought maybe this time it might work.”

“You have met me, I presume,” Ravus says, and pulls him down for a kiss. Perhaps there’s some truth in Ardyn’s words. Perhaps he really _could_ relax, for once -- there is nothing he can do, the pollen will run its course and Ravus will live and the world will still turn at the end of it.

But he’s simply not made that way, and he’s fairly sure that Ardyn knows it.

“Indeed I have,” Ardyn says. “Indeed I have.”

***

Ravus has more sex in the next few hours than he’s ever had in his entire life.

He’s hard again even before the sweat’s cooled from the first time, and luckily Ardyn doesn’t taunt him --- much -- just climbs back on top of him and fucks Ravus until he’s a trembling mess. Ravus will probably recall his wanton behavior later with acute and utter shame, but for now he can’t help himself and he gives Ardyn every reaction, every vocalization, that he’s denied him in the past.

Eventually, his body shifts demands -- however briefly -- from sex to water, and he sits up in Ardyn’s bed and sips slowly from a bottle that Ardyn brings him. Ardyn’s wearing a pair of black cotton pants and nothing else, his hair half-pulled back and he looks younger than Ravus has ever seen.

“You mentioned your birthday,” Ravus says, because the fog of lust has lifted enough that he can ask a question. “But I realized I don’t know how old you are.”

Ardyn smiles at him, but like all of Ardyn’s smiles, this one doesn’t reach his eyes. “Guess.”

Ravus is not good at this game, but he tries. He thinks back to what he knows of Ardyn, how long he’s been the Chancellor, but oddly he can’t quite work out how long that’s been. He knows Ardyn was the Chancellor when Lunafreya ascended as Oracle, which was six or so years ago. But as to the age politicians rise to prominence, he has no idea. “Ah. Thirty-four?”

“Thirty-four?” Ardyn throws his head back and laughs. “If I didn't know better, I’d think you were trying to flatter me. Thirty-four.”

Ravus’s eyebrows raise. “That’s not an answer.”

“My birthday is the second of November,” Ardyn says, which is, incidentally, not an answer, either. “And my age hardly matters.” Ardyn winks. “I’m ageless, really. It’s part of my charm.”

Before Ravus can puzzle out the mystery of Ardyn’s age, Ardyn leans back and draws Ravus near, urging Ravus to straddle his lap and ride him. However old Ardyn is, it’s not having any impact on his ability to fuck Ravus several times in a row, and really, that _is_ what Ravus is here for, isn’t he?

***

Ardyn fucks him from behind, with his hand in Ravus’s hair, forcing his head up so he can see the two of them reflected in the mirror across from his bed. Ravus hates how he looks, his face flushed and his mouth wet, eyes glassy with lust and his hair a tangled, damp mess. His fingers are clutching the bedding while Ardyn takes him, Ardyn’s other hand bruising-tight on Ravus’s hip.

Ardyn is as fond of the sound of his own voice in bed as he is anywhere else, and keeps up a running commentary as he drives his cock hard inside Ravus. “Look at you, so lovely and desperate for it. The sounds you’re making are really quite arousing, darling.”

Unlike Ravus, Ardyn isn’t panting and he doesn’t look winded at all -- other than his hair having escaped that half-knot and falling around his face, and the hard cock drilling perfect against Ravus’s prostate, he looks as if he could be delivering a speech in a council meeting. Ravus sees himself trying to scowl in the mirror, but Ardyn’s hips snap forward and that means he’s watching himself moan -- he looks debauched, utterly wrecked, and in the grip of the damned pollen the sight is as arousing as the rest of it.

Ravus might hate it, but it’s got him so hard his cock is wet and slick between his legs. He doesn’t bother reaching for it, keeping himself instead balanced and watching in the mirror. Ardyn grabs his hips with both hands now, saying something infuriating about _I don’t even need to make you look at yourself, do I?,_ and drives into Ravus so hard it forces him down on his elbows with his hips still canted up and held tight in Ardyn’s grip.

He comes the second he feels the friction of the bedding on his cock, and Ardyn shoves him face-first into the mattress and finishes with a few sharp thrusts.

Ravus finally turns his head and gasps for breath, shuddering. He keeps hoping, every time, that it will be enough and the pollen will have worked its way out of his system. But after a few moments of blissful relief, the feverish burn of arousal creeps back under his skin and makes him shift, restless and edgy.

He fights it as long as he can, sipping water and ignoring Ardyn’s meaningful looks and low-murmured taunts. He doesn’t bother to hide his flinch when Ardyn rubs a hand down his back, which would have been, from anyone else, a gentle attempt at soothing. Ardyn knows very well how Ravus hates that sort of thing, especially when it feels as good as it does now.

He’s just about resigned himself to being fucked again when Ardyn yawns -- which makes Ravus immediately suspicious in and of itself -- and says, “I think perhaps you’ll have to do the work this round, Ravus.”

Ravus blinks at him. “I rode you the time before this one,” he points out, blood heating at the memory of straddling Ardyn’s thighs and gods, how long _have they been doing this_? The pollen has made his body primed and ready for sex, with other considerations like food and sleep apparently not an issue. He doesn’t _think_ it’s been seventy-two hours but it’s all sort of hazy, the sex blending together into one long memory of pleasure and desperation.

“Yes, and I’m going to need a bit of a break before you’ll have anything _to_ ride.” Ardyn smiles. “But you’re more than welcome to fuck me.”

Ravus’s eyes narrow. Ardyn has offered this before, when Ravus is _not_ afflicted by sex pollen, and he’s always refused. Partly because it seems as if he’ll have to admit he _wants_ this with Ardyn, partly because he’s concerned it will feel almost _too_ good and he won’t be able to control his reactions. “Perhaps I shall just wait.”

“Oh, I’m not sure you’ll be able to,” Ardyn drawls, sounding way too pleased with himself. “Besides, Ravus, I’m doing you such a favor, aren’t I? Fucking you into oblivion with nary a complaint--”

Ravus snorts. “I’m sure you hate every minute of it.”

“Well, the point _is_ that I am saving you from death by sex pollen,” Ardyn says, mouth quirking up into a smirk. It’s a far more honest expression than his smiles ever are. “The least you could do is indulge me by returning the favor.”

Ravus doesn’t want to, but his body has other ideas. Even thinking about it, how it will feel to push his cock into Ardyn’s body, all that tight heat -- he can barely breathe, his body seizing up as the pollen kicks his libido back into high gear.

“Think of this way. You can do it, and forever blame it on the pollen,” Ardyn tempts.

He spreads his legs, his smirk lascivious, and there’s a gleam in his eyes that Ravus can’t say is passion, exactly, but it’s something curious and wanting, almost a dare.

He knows he’s going to do it; he needs to work through this latest round of pollen-induced lust and Ardyn’s cock is lying flaccid on his thigh. Ravus licks his lips, then tries to make his voice sound normal when he says, “All right.” He makes sure it sounds as grudging as possible, which isn’t easy given he’s suddenly so turned on he can barely think.

Ardyn tosses him the lube, which they’ve put a bit of an embarrassing dent in since Ravus showed up at Ardyn’s apartments. Ravus’s fingers are clumsy and lacking their usual dexterity as he fumbles the cap open; the stroke of his own hand on his skin isn’t nearly as good as Ardyn’s, but that does help him keep his wits somewhat in check as he crawls on top of Ardyn’s body.

Ravus frowns down at him. “I’m not certain I wish to do it this way.”

Ardyn’s smirk is all angles and smugness, strands of his hair hanging in his face. “Whatever you like, Ravus. Simply tell me how you want me, darling.”

What he _likes_ is not being at the mercy of his body and this thrice-damned sex pollen. Since that’s not possible at the moment, he settles for a muttered, “Don’t call me that,” before kissing Ardyn, mostly to shut him up.

It only takes about four seconds of heated kissing before Ravus is making sounds into Ardyn’s mouth, rutting against Ardyn’s abdomen and appreciating the hard press of muscles there. Ardyn is in far better shape than any other non-military politician of his acquaintance, and Ravus has gone few sparring rounds with him to know that Ardyn is far more proficient with a sword than he has any need to be. Especially given that the only weapon Ravus has ever seen on his person is a rather old, standard-issue dagger that looks better suited to field stripping anaks than any sort of combat.

“You -- turn over,” Ravus manages, and Ardyn does so easily, so that he’s lying beneath Ravus on his stomach with his head pillowed on his arms. He looks a bit like he’s going to take a nap.

Ravus doesn’t want to do this -- no, he _does,_ but he doesn’t want to _want_ to do it, and he also doesn’t want Ardyn acting as if he’s going to simply close his eyes and let Ravus rut on top of him like some mindless automaton.

Ravus has at least enough composure to ask gruffly, “Do you need some preparation?”

“Go slow, if you can,” Ardyn says, his voice a dark rumble. He glances up at Ravus. “How kind of you to think of my comfort.”

“I don’t derive any pleasure from the idea of hurting you,” Ravus says, which is perhaps a bit more honest than he likes. The urges of his body are making it hard to think, to keep his usual filters in place.

Ardyn laughs, but the sound is strangely bitter and he’s looking somewhere across the room, eyes distant. It’s an odd look, not one Ravus has seen on him before. “I would prefer it if this gave you some pleasure.”

Ardyn blinks, and his gaze focuses. “I’m sure it will. If it becomes necessary to instruct you, I have no doubt you’ll take direction well. It is of no matter, Ravus. You won’t hurt me, I assure you.”

As Ravus shifts over him and nudges Ardyn’s legs wider apart, he wonders why Ardyn’s eyes always look dead, like there’s nothing behind them but some yawning abyss, endless and cold. It’s so jarring that Ravus thinks if he weren’t currently being compelled by the pollen, he would get up and get dressed, leave these rooms and never come back.

Ardyn blinks, slowly, like a cat. His eyes aren’t warm, but that glacial _emptiness_ is gone, leaving his usual watchful regard. “Is something the matter?”

Ravus says, before he can think better of it, “Who _are_ you?”

Ardyn’s mouth twists into something too cruel to be a smile. For a second, he looks like he might give an honest answer, but then he says, “At the moment, I’m simply a man waiting impatiently for you to fuck me,” and Ravus takes it as the dismissal it is, and turns his attention to other matters.

***

Fucking Ardyn is both exactly what he always feared it would be, and nothing like he thought.

No amount of fevered imaginings -- in which he’s indulged more than once, even if he would never admit it to anyone -- comes close to the sensation, and he doesn’t think it’s just the pollen making it so mind-numbingly good to press his aching cock into the tight heat of Ardyn’s body. He’s gasping and sweating from the effort of holding back, all his nerve endings urging him to thrust like the mindless automaton he was so determined not to be.

Ardyn, of course, keeps up a running commentary.  “That’s -- ah, yes, that’s it, you can go faster, do stop treating me like a bride on her wedding night,” and “Your cock is as rigid as that sword of yours, let’s see if you wield it with similar expertise.”

Ravus’s gentleness and hesitancy melts away as his body’s desire to _fuck_ takes over -- he’s fucking Ardyn hard, fast, driving inside him and making sounds that would humiliate him if he was of a mind to care. Ardyn doesn’t stay passive for long, either; he shifts beneath him, pushing up into Ravus’s graceless thrusts, falling into the rhythm even though it is entirely without finesse.

Ravus braces his hands on the bed and just _goes_ for it, eyes stinging with sweat as he gets closer and closer to his peak. The sensations are overwhelming enough that he loses his inhibitions, thrusting hard and fast until orgasm knocks his breath from his lungs and pulls a low, loud cry from his lungs.

He’s aware of Ardyn’s body going almost impossibly tight around him; it feels so good he shudders through an aftershock, so intense that he drops his head and presses his mouth to Ardyn’s shoulder. Ravus nearly breaks the one and only rule Ardyn’s ever given him in bed, _don’t make me bleed,_ as his teeth clamp down in reaction to the last burst of pleasure washing through him.

Ravus pulls out and collapses next to Ardyn, breathing hard, his mind a swirling void and unable to form a single thought. Ardyn is saying something, _there now, I told you that you’d like it --_ and Ravus drags in enough air to laugh, the sound harsh and breathless.

Even now, replete and languid from his orgasm, he knows it’s not yet over.

***

Ravus fucks him twice more -- once, Ardyn rides him, and once, exhausted and starting to feel the pollen’s influence recede, lying behind Ardyn with his face buried in the spot he’d nearly bitten.

That’s the last time -- when he pulls out, he knows it’s finally over. Exhaustion drags at him, and he’s barely aware enough to sip the water Ardyn shoves at him, followed immediately by a potion. It’s odd – curatives of this nature aren’t common in Niflheim. He wonders from where Ardyn procured it.

Just before sleep finally claims him, he thinks he feels Ardyn brush his sweaty hair from his face, but perhaps he only imagines it.  

***

When Ravus opens his eyes, there’s light spilling in from the windows and he’s alone in the bed.

He’s been covered with a sheet, which Ardyn must have done since Ravus does not remember being conscious enough to have gotten beneath the covers. He lays there in idle repose, his body sore and his muscles _aching,_ but he feels...good. As content as he almost ever does, since the day the Imperial army stormed Tenebrae and turned his heretofore charmed life into some cliched waking nightmare.

He has no idea what time it is, or even what day. He lays in Ardyn’s bed until he simply cannot stand it anymore, his desire for a shower and some food pushing him to finally get to his feet. He sways immediately, reaching for the full bottle of water on the bedside table. He drains it entirely before he even gets to the bathroom, stopping at the sink to fill it up from the tap and drink it down without pause.

He avoids his reflection, choosing instead to indulge in the longest shower he can remember taking in recent memory. He washes off what feels like layers of sweat and dried come, and even though he winces when he cleans his cock at how chafed he is, it’s not quite enough to dull that sense of low-level _euphoria_ that seems to have taken up residence in his very bones.

It’s not unpleasant. Ravus deduces it must be from the pollen, but he can’t say it was worth it, exactly, to feel like this in the aftermath. As with anything that makes him feel good, he doesn’t trust it at all.

He wants to feel like himself again, even if that means functioning at his usual level of vague grouchiness.

Ravus’s clothes are nowhere to be found when he pads back into the bedroom, a towel wrapped low around his hips. He doesn’t want to leave the bedroom like this, so he rummages through Ardyn’s wardrobe and looks for the least offensive articles of clothing he can find. He pulls on a pair of plain black cotton pants and a simple white undershirt, rakes his fingers through his thankfully clean hair and ties it back with the elastic around his wrist, then goes out into the main living area.

His stomach grumbles immediately as he catches the scent of food, and he sees the rather excessive display set out on the table before he even sees Ardyn. Ardyn, who is fully dressed and sprawled on his sofa, reading a book. He looks up and catches Ravus’s gaze, waving a hand at the table. “I assumed you would be hungry. And I took the liberty of having your uniform laundered; that should ensure you suffer no more exposure to that dastardly pollen.”

Ravus’s mood is still sufficiently relaxed enough that he actually smiles. “A rather astute word choice, dastardly.”

Ardyn returns his smile, but while Ravus’s is entirely genuine, Ardyn’s is the same empty expression it always is. He does spare a long look at Ravus wearing his clothes, though, and there’s a thread of actual amusement in his voice when he says, “You didn’t opt for the pair of pajama pants with the little tonberries on them? Those are my favorite.”

Ravus just _looks_ at him, and Ardyn’s laugh follows him as he sits at the table and pours himself tea from the pot. His mouth waters as the delicious scents of the food assail him; it’s nothing fancy, bacon and eggs and some thick, buttered toast, but Ravus tucks into it like it’s one of those elaborate feasts left behind with his privileged childhood.

He’s nearly decimated the food when he remembers his manners, which are still that of a prince even if he no longer is one. “Were you planning on joining me?”

“Oh, no, I’m quite sated in every way, I assure you.” Ardyn puts his book down and walks over, and for the first time Ravus notices him walking with a slight limp.

He glances down at his mostly empty plate, pretending he’s not flushed with embarrassment at his appetites -- and not only the one for food. “I apologize if my condition caused you any undue physical stress.”

“Oh, Ravus,” Ardyn says, and it might have sounded fond if it didn’t sound so mocking. “What am I to do with you?” He takes a seat across from Ravus at the table, chin in his hands, watching Ravus with glittering eyes. “Are you quite recovered, then?”

Raus inclines his head. “Yes. I owe you my thanks.” He sips his tea, uncomfortable as he always is when he’s required to express gratitude. “I’m aware that was something of an imposition, my showing up and demanding your assistance with my….condition.”

“Only you would apologize for showing up at a man’s door and dragging him into a sex marathon,” says Ardyn, and he laughs when Ravus nearly chokes on his tea. “Think nothing of it. I can’t say it wasn’t enjoyable, and rather illuminating.” Ardyn winks at him.

Ravus has never, in his entire life, actually met a human being who _winks._ “Yes, well. You still have my thanks, regardless of any enjoyment you might have attained.”

“I was adequately compensated, I would say,” Ardyn says. “I am glad I was in residence, one wonders who you might have sought out were I not.”

Ravus thinks about that for a moment. “I’m not entirely certain. An MT, perhaps. You know better than anyone how much I detest weakness, and as I’ve told you before, I’ve never been particularly successful in finding anyone to...satiate my desires, so to speak.”

Ardyn looks entirely too pleased when he purrs, “You don’t know anyone else who fucks you like you both want and need, you mean.”

“Mmm,” says Ravus, sipping his tea. “I suppose that is what I mean.” He’s curious as to how much time has passed, but the thought of asking _what day is it_ seems so absurd, he can’t quite make himself give the question voice.

‘“You might have asked Commodore Highwind,” Ardyn says slyly, stealing the last piece of bacon from Ravus’s plate. He doesn’t eat it, merely breaks it into careless pieces on the tablecloth; as if he didn’t want to eat it, but doesn’t want Ravus to have it either.

Ravus flushes, again, but his eyebrows raise. “I mention _one time_ that I think she is an attractive woman, and you have yet to let me forget it.”

Ardyn tilts his head, that unblinking, shrewd gaze locked on Ravus’s face. In the morning light, his eyes are the same shade of yellow as a cat’s. “You’re almost cheerful. Perhaps sex pollen agrees with you.”

“It does have a rather pleasant after-effect, I suppose,” Ravus agrees, pouring more tea into his cup. “I’m not sure it’s worth the ordeal that proceeded it, however.”

“ _Ordeal_? Ravus, you wound me,” Ardyn says, placing a hand on his heart with a theatrical wince.

“I highly doubt that,” Ravus says, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not sure such a thing is possible. For me to do to you, anyway.”

Ardyn’s look is calculating, shrewd -- almost angry, though Ravus thinks he must be imagining it. He doesn’t think he’s ever _seen_ Ardyn angry. He’s sure he doesn’t want to. “What an odd thing to say.”

“You are merely…” Ravus almost says _impenetrable,_ then remembers how many times he did, in fact, penetrate Ardyn and decides it’s a poor choice of words. “Dauntless? Unflappable? Immovable, like a large boulder?” Ravus waves a hand. “One of those. I think you are as stoic as I am, in your own way.”

“Hmm.” Ardyn doesn’t move, but for some reason, Ravus has a sense he’s made Ardyn angry, somehow. And he doesn’t want to - the strange feeling of contentment aside, he _is_ grateful that Ardyn was able to see him through the worst of the pollen’s influence, even if he doesn’t want to dwell overmuch on how wanton it made him. “Most people find me charming and harmless.”

“Well, Ardyn,” Ravus says, conversationally. “Most people are very stupid.”

Ardyn laughs, and Ravus thinks it might just be the first honest one he’s ever gotten out of Ardyn Izunia, ever. “That they are,” Ardyn says. “That they are.”

Ravus finishes his breakfast, and then decides to spend the last of his chemical euphoria in the privacy of his own rooms. Before he leaves, he asks Ardyn somewhat hesitantly, “Did you enjoy any of that? On its own merits, I mean.”

“How strange you think I wouldn’t have,” Ardyn says, one of his non-answers yet again. No wonder Ardyn is such a gifted politician.

“You are a strange man,” Ravus says “I think if I didn’t hate being forced to feel pleasure so much, you wouldn’t have anything to do with me outside of any interactions necessary for our respective positions in the Empire.”

Ardyn studies him, his expression calculating. He shrugs. “Perhaps I find you a bit of a kindred soul, Ravus. Oh, I don’t mean the bit about feeling pleasure, don’t misunderstand me. But I know something of what it’s like, the peculiar vulnerability that hope and good feelings inevitably brings. And how dreadful it is when you realize it is naught but a lie.”

He looks like a stranger, full of secrets wrapped up tight like a package never meant to be opened. The moment passes and Ardyn turns back into the glib, charming Chancellor, laughing and waving his hand with one of his many gestures meant to distract and deceive. “But enough of that. Do be careful when you go trampling through fields, would you? You have much yet to accomplish, and we can’t have you distracted by such mundane things as sex and pleasure.”

“Indeed, we can’t,” Ravus says, and offers a polite bow. “I’ll have these clothes cleaned before I return them,” he says, indicated his purloined ensemble. “I’m not sure I could be as accommodating, were you to be the one similarly affected by the pollen.”

Ardyn sweeps him a bow in return, gifts him another empty smile. “Oh, I’m sadly immune to the effects of that particular substance, don’t worry. There’s only one thing in the whole world that could reduce me to such desperation, and it isn’t a flower.”

Ravus wonders what it is, but he doesn’t ask.

 

  

**Author's Note:**

> As it happens, I know exactly what Ardyn's cologne smells like and it is [Villain](https://blackphoenixalchemylab.com/shop/diabolus/villain/) from Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab, described as "a lavender fougere, with hints of lilac, lime, and citrus musk." Yup. 
> 
> In other news, I just ordered some after posting that link (I highly recommend BPAL if you are sensitive to perfumes, etc -- everything is made with essential oils and they last _forever_.) 
> 
> I spent a long time thinking about when Ardyn's birthday would be, especially given there's not the same astrological meanings in Eos as there are here, and decided he was a Scorpio born on All Souls Day. Just because.


End file.
